


Borderline

by Feather (lalaietha)



Category: Push (2009)
Genre: F/M, Mind Control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-06
Updated: 2012-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-30 16:55:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalaietha/pseuds/Feather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Nick weren't so good at telling the differences, this wouldn't be okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Borderline

**Author's Note:**

> Contains mention of consensual mind-control.

If Nick weren't so good at telling what was her, and what was him, this would scare her shitless. 

Kira could make him forget. She could, at this point, make anyone forget - get a line of sight and if she pushed hard enough her target's whole mind crumbled. She could _feel_ it now. Feel the way the boundaries of thought resisted and then capitulated and then (if she pushed, if she overwhelmed) crumbled. Carver didn't know it; like most of them, his understanding of what they'd made her was . . . limited. While she was under his push, he'd told her to march the people she'd been puppeting off the edge - she knew now she didn't _need_ to. She could have just let them go: they'd've laid down and starved to death. Nothing left but the autonomic. 

In the end, she _could_ do that to Nick, to anyone. But it would be a step further, a step past the ordinary; it was what she has that no one else like her does. She still had what they all did - suggestion, impression, insinuation. The ability to slide a thought into someone else's brain and have it anchor there like a cuckoo, and the host completely unaware. 

Except for some people. Some people were good at telling which thoughts were theirs and which weren't. For some reason or another - you could train it, but some people couldn't learn; and you could just be good at it, by accident, and Nick was. It made him safe; it meant she didn't have to be so goddamn careful around him. Because she could break him, but it would have to be on _purpose_. She'd have to decide to. She couldn't do it by accident; she couldn't make him into a blank, dying slate by mistake.

And he trusted her not to do it on purpose. And if she thought about it (the residue of the rhythm from a half a dozen minds all around her in a circle, wiped clean to her will) that was it's own kind of terrifying, but not much more than walking around with a gun all the time. He trusted her not to cross that boundary; she trusted him not to stop her heart, pull her spinal cord askew while she wasn't looking. It was the same thing: it was still death. 

What was scary, terrifying, was that he also trusted her enough to lie here beside her. To look up at her and wait, and let her work her way in and let her hold him, own him for just a - 

Just for now. 

So that when she kissed him she was in his mind, and the thoughts would whisper _do this_ or _do that_ and he already was, no space between her desire and his response, her need driving _his_ body; or when she pulled him over her, he knew, he believed that she was two people, that there were two of her, one here underneath him and one above and behind, teeth on his neck and nails raking down his back. Head wide open and all bare to her. 

Later, he'd remember which bits were real and which were from her push. But for now he would know what she wanted him, and know it with everything he was.


End file.
